walk and rain
by valakaite
Summary: from the turnout of the shed through the cycle of learning. drabblefic. chelley
1. summer

Upon exiting the facility, new troubles thought themselves destined for Chell. Her "companion" as so dubbed by GLaDOS still had hatred and foul intent for her. A body brought by GLaDOS that he couldn't operate, save for yelling and other odd noises, proved worthy in keeping him at bay until his snide remarks flowed into tearful apologies which potentially crippled him even further. Gripped with his emotions he was worthless in accomplishing anything in that day. He slept where he first dropped outside the shack that night. She slept further away in a bedding of wheat, relishing the stars.

The night was hard for him. Obvious confusion about dreams and the difference between wakefulness and sleep had his mind hazy for the next morning. His main task was to convince her to stay with him, an assignment she was not particularly fond of. He couldn't do anything for himself, and she rather loathed him. The recent memories of his betrayal stung hard and fast in her chest. He had been her friend, the only personable object she had met that didn't automatically want to do her a large amount of harm. But she knew in the end she would stay with him anyway.

His pleas from the front of the shed grew louder till she bothered to roll out and face the morning sun. He cried for her attention and she brushed him off as simply another part of the wilderness. He managed to slowly drag himself to his elbows and knees while she went about sorting the belongings that GLaDOS had given her. He fell and cried out for her help. She gave him a glance and went about her own business. He tried and failed again to stand, the faint hinting of blood scratching at his hands from catching his fall. He asked for her help another time, at which she scoffed and sat on her cube to watch him squirm. He lay back on the ground willing his legs to roll him over to face away from her.

He cursed himself under his breath and tried a last time to stand on his own. He failed. Curling into himself he resigned to laying there in the shade of the shack until death may find him. Instead he was greeted with Chell's heel dug into his back and her arms wrapping around his malnourished frame to prop him awkwardly against the wall of the small building. She squatted inches from him and stared menacingly, taking two fingers and flashing them from her eyes to his. He had no idea what this meant but it was terrifying. She grasped his body again and leaned backwards, pulling up at the same time. He unloaded all of his weight into her frame and clutched at her shoulders as he realized that she was helping him to stand.

His first movements were jerky and irregular; leaning heavily on her he tentatively lifted a foot and was able to put it down with relative ease. She stepped back a pace and he stepped forwards. After what she judged had been an hour or so, they had circled the shed and he'd fallen twice. Given his body had no muscle mass due to malnourishment from overexposure to crysosleep, and he had never worked a body before, they both thought this was doing pretty well.

The next few days led a basic rhythm. Teaching Wheatley about basic functions proved easier than she had expected. Apparently even though he was dense at times, he seemed to understand that if he didn't get it he'd be far worse off. His constant apologies and the knowledge he would die if not for her helped keep her around. He seemed to suspect this. After a while, through the days of falling over and hurting himself numerous times; he could swing his arms when he walked and eat without choking. He was very proud of this.

Summer was waning. She decided that heading south would be the best option as of the moment. The days were already growing cooler and she knew the winter had potential to spell trouble for the pair. With the morning at her left, and the evening at her right, the pair traveled south.

He was endlessly curious about his own humanity and the surrounding world he had been thrust into. Animals and plants fascinated him, completely and utterly stealing away his attention. At first this greatly annoyed her, but after the realization that this was his first and only interaction of any kind with the outside world besides the potato plants and the occasional insect in the facility, she gave him some flexibility. He would catch small insects and the occasional rodent to come show her. She didn't care about the animals, but she encouraged him because of the fact that he was actively using his fine motor skills; something which he was particularly lacking in.

They came across the ruins of a city. Tumbled buildings manifested themselves upon the skyline of a newborn sunset. Everything had been eaten away by years of erosion and lack of humanity. This sight combined with the days of traveling left both of them weary and downhearted. A bedding house, with water and a few supplies was their bunk that night. He had pleaded with her almost to the point of begging that they sleep together that night. The city scared him. She knew it reminded him of the facility, the walls and the fixed layout of all the rooms to be nearly identical to one another. She picked one on the ground floor with two beds and a divider. They took their claim on the abandoned hotel. The city was quieter than the countryside, she didn't have to worry about food and water because it had the resources they needed to live on, and it also offered some form of entertainment to keep Wheatley from breathing down her neck all the time. She decided that they would stay.

They would spend the day doing their own things, and come back to the hotel at night to show off what they had found. Wheatley hurt himself several times throughout this process. They always slept separate until the first time it really stormed. He had been terrified every time it had rained in the past. Those occurrences were incredibly mild and even though she knew he was afraid, she did little for him to alleviate his fear. This however, was a completely different case. He was crying and desperate, a dreadful trembling mess. Every time the lightning would light up the room a deplorable whimper would build until the shrieking at the thunder. His fits and convulsions left her scared as well. Scared for him. Amidst his crying and calling out she was able to wrestle him onto her bed. All she could do was hold him and make soft noises. With each vulgar flash of lightning and the resulting smashes of thunder he twisted and writhed in her grasp, pleading for it to stop with all of his being. When the storm lessened he resigned to trembling and whimpering under the covers. He spent the next day inside.

She had given him the benefit of the doubt and let him sleep in her bed the next night. He was confused but grateful. The sheer amount of heat he threw off during the night astounded her. She was vaguely reminded of a room and some cats. She had no idea where this memory came from. They slept back to back as the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer. The decent temperatures of the late summer waned into the cool dampness of the fall.


	2. winter

Worming on past autumn and up through winter, ports and plugs make themselves apparent through the pains of cold metal embedded in weak flesh. Burns and scrapes long since healed give way to the curling and purpling of skin and blood. The aches and pains of joints and connections shorting out at the collapsing batteries of frigid air.

Throughout this he still takes the time to marvel at his solidifying breath on the cold air; to gaze in admiration at the pristine cleanliness of new fallen snow. She guides him to take care of himself in these conditions. She does not see the snow the same as he. She sees an inability for travel. An inability for food. An inability for the comforts she only recently acquired.

She recoils at the pristine untainted whiteness, reminding her of _that place_. He hides the pains it causes him, for she does not need more reason to dislike the blank wonderland he takes such beauty from.

She notices anyway. A wincing at touch, a groan at movement. Hesitant reluctance at her offers to couple together is the final click in the laboring cogs spinning in her mind. After time of coaxing and pleading she is able to inspect damage. The ice burned warping of the skin frightens her; not for what it is but rather that he would hide. She begins to fear at what else he does not tell her, what else she does not know about him.

She fixes him, she bandages him. Whimpers and cries throughout the process bring pity upon her. upon him. She forces him inside until the ling nights of cold slowly fade and shift into a budding prospering of spring. The etching of the winter's bite healing as he now gains new grass stains and learns about the new growing of the world.


	3. insects

The chirps of insects give away their location to the man slowly hunting. The quiet buzzing the little creatures emit is the key to their benign downfall. Large fumbling hands dart out and encase them. Murmurs of 'got you' and 'stop moving' are surprisingly the only noises the normally very loud man makes. This is simply the only time he is ever quiet.

He brings them to her, to show her what he's caught. To show her that he's 'mastered' using his hands. He likes to see her smile, and these little gifts usually do. He knows she feigns interest, giving him a smirk and waving him off. He always brings her more though. The one time he was able to catch a mouse she held it for a while petting it until it bit her and she immediately let it go.

He feels the locust writhe in his hands. He cracks a hole to peek inside. The insect stares back at the promise of release and immediately starts trying to escape. Wheatley shakes his head and closes his hands again. Wheatley gets an idea and gently, cautiously opens his hands again. He grabs the hind leg and hoists the struggling creature up to his face. He studies the creature flailing around at his eye level, it was really rather disgusting, bright yellow green with a bulbous head and long body. Suddenly the leg came off and the creature fell to the ground where it stumbled around and then flew away.

The first time this had happened Wheatley felt absolutely awful, and had cradled the creature to Chell in tears. She laughed at him and his pettiness and put the creature out of its misery. He's gotten to the point by now that he pretty much doesn't care anymore. He still feels mildly bad about it though.

Wheatley looks for another insect or small creature to pass his time. He lifts rocks and displaces bushes, looking and listening for his next present for Chell. Eventually he finds something else. The birth of spring and the last echoes of winter storm that rocked the trees, shaking the bird's nests free from their hold.

He finds an egg. It's a small blue pebble lying in the grass at his feet. Gently cradled in unsteady hands he studies his find. Light blue gradually fading into the richness of the sky. He begins to grin and is off to go find Chell.


	4. lake tornado

She had told him to run. She had told him to get away. She had gone one way and he the other both running at their respective top speeds. He went to the lake. She went to the forest. The wind howled and the storm raged above them.

He wished she stayed with him, but she said she had to get something. He arrived at the shore. The lake was wide and endless, willing to swallow an unwary victim lest they pay respect. He ducked a ways up the shore, burrowing himself into the gravely sand as the storm manipulated it's wrath above.

The rain stung like flecks of ice. If it were any colder she may have attested to it. She headed to an overbearing cave she had discovered, going for a tarp she knew they would need. At the cave the rain was almost horizontal, coming as sheets through the frigid air. She stuffed the thing under her arms and went for the beach.

She found him with little difficulty and they bunked down, riding out the cold and the water, the tarp as their only barrier to this awful tempest.

They hear the funnel before they see it.

Like a great finger of god brought down to the land to smite the earth herself. She says it won't go to the water. He knows it will anyway. He knows that he's seen footage. He says it will kill them. She tells him to be quiet.

"it won't go to the water"

"it can't go to the water"

She repeats this mantra till he almost starts to believe her.

The rage of the sky doesn't last long, but while it was there, they watched in the pure state of fear and terror. It raged across the land and up the bank of trees, throwing its waste like toothpicks. A ditch of sand and a mantra of bottomless hope is what keeps them on.

After everything is calm, and the sun has risen, they stay in the sand holding each other. Rather, he holds her and cries. She sits there and lets him wallow into her and repeats how lucky they are.

* * *

><p>We've had some tornadoes recently in my area. I'm not really sure how that prompted this especially since Michigan isn't quite in tornado alley. Doesn't mean it can't happen though I don't guess.<p> 


	5. feeling again

They are shamed among the others into not receiving needs their own. They can want. They can feel. The others don't believe them. They don't believe the others. Hooked into the strings of madness from the corporation, they edge on, the breathing living circuits holding the structure together. Running the programs and calling the shots.

The systems fail; they are blackened into the recesses of the monster. They toil around for the meaningless efforts and required programs needed for survival. "they need nothing and give everything" the others would say. It is not true. They need. They want. They can not have.

He searches to survive, finds the woman and sets out to escape. The plans always fail, he always fails, in the nature of his being. He cries alone above. He wants. He needs. He can not have. Reaching for the hopes and aspirations the others always told him he does not deserve, who is he to deserve them? He does not. He can not want, how could he? He can not need, how could he? His feelings are told to him by the others, told to him by circuits and telling him every moment how to feel, how to react.

His emotions are not his. The others would have said that. He would not. They are real to him. They are real to her. The hurt woman above, hanging there for life among ruins and sterilization. She does not want or need. She will not allow herself to want or need. That is for the others. That is for them. Not her. she is the God of this place. They look up in fear and respect, she owns the desolate ruins and keeps her practice into keeping the others out.

They have no quarrels now.


	6. sun and wind

He likes the wind, the billowing breath of life upon his skin, used to only fans inside the facility. the sun as well, warming skin unused to warmth or natural light. He was accustomed to the room temperature of aperture and the cold depths of space, the sun and the wind a new warmth on his previously unknowing existence.

She enjoys it as well, not remembering the sun except for the odd windows in aperture, which grew fewer and fewer as she had gone on. She remembered the sky through the ceiling, the impossibly tall holes in the roof of the company, life crawling forth to invade upon the metal structure in it's presence.

Aperture would be eaten. The wind and the sun, the plants and the rain. Nature would swallow the mechanical beast back into its own former glory. The God below knows this even if Her wishes disallow it, one cannot go against the inevitable.

The two above move on, hating each other at first, barely able to stand each other's presence. He hated her for what she had done to him, he was great for once in his life. The first and only time. She hating him for his stupidity and inability to understand she had only wanted to help. They give up their grudges slowly, neither fully trust one another, and most likely never will. There will always be a strange tension.

they bask in the sun and the wind, flowing over broken bodies and broken souls. They speak to one another, he saying a sentence for her words. She does not like speaking, but he requires it, the need to hear another's voice after so long of just the God below. He has troubles. She knows this, she knows there is more to him than he lets on, she knows he's had issues and beatings of more than one type. She feels bad about it. Pity. She pitied him. She did her best for him and he knew this, trying his best for her.

there is not much he can do for her, she can survive on her own and he needs constant supervision with help and support to get him through even menial tasks. He feels bad about this. He feels as though he can do nothing for himself, and for the most part it's true.

So they sit in the sun. the warmth bringing in new life and helping heal old wounds. they let the wind blow over them. Cool billowing gentleness neither has wanted so badly as when they have it.


	7. haircuts

After a few days of reaching the city they had found a craft store, and inside were scissors that prompted the idea in her mind. The day after she went searching for a salon and found one. It was dismal inside, same as the rest of the city. Broken and the obvious wear and tear of years of neglect and ransacking left it in poor condition.

She found what she needed anyway. Her own hair was cut then and there. It wasn't much, just to clean up the ends. The difference made her feel better about herself though, she couldn't remember the last time she actually was able to groom herself in some way or another. This concept got her looking through the rest of the building. She found small bottles of lotion, nail care objects, and obviously hair supplies.

It was a sort of unexpected want, but she did indeed want them. Before she had them she would never have given them a second thought. But once in her grasp, there was nothing more she wanted to just drown in luxury and be pampered. She chalked it up to a need of physical wellbeing of a sort. The need to be cared for, and to potentially care for others was what this entire place represented in her mind.

Wheatley's hair wasn't bad necessarily; it was just obviously unwashed and unclean, much like the man himself. It was rather clear he had tried to cut it himself on occasion, perhaps with a knife or jagged piece of scrap metal by the scraggy looks of it. Once she had corralled him into the shop and made him sit down in the ancient chair, she had made up her mind (somewhat) on what she wanted to do with it. He was completely oblivious.

She had washed it with a bucket of rainwater and newly found shampoo. They were both surprised when it curled up after the third round of washing. Not thick curls, but certainly a bit more than wavy. It was oddly sort of endearing. She dried it the best she could and sat him in one of the chairs.

She had never cut hair before besides her own, but remembered getting cuts when she was just a girl. Wheatley was very indignant and cross about this entire ordeal. He liked his hair just fine and was (as always) vocal about his opinions on everything. She handed him an old unusable hairdryer to occupy himself.

She focused mainly on the back, it was matted and tangled from years of not being cleaned or brushed. She hadn't ever given his hair much thought, but up close she was rather repulsed and couldn't understand how he could stand it when it occurred to her that he probably couldn't. He was always scratching and picking at himself. She ought to give him a bath after this.

By the end she had nearly cut everything at the back and kept a bit up top and on the front. It was actually rather charming if he weren't so…Wheatley. He was somewhat grateful, he didn't have to keep swiping it out of his eyes and it didn't itch any more. He gave her a smile and suggested they head back to the motel they had ransacked, thanking her about five minutes after.


	8. social construct of bathing

AN: this chapter makes no sense. Sorry.

She didn't understand. He was messy, unclean, grimy, and filthy. He stank and he knew it. She knew it too. Yet every time she would have enough of him and his filth he seemed absolutely thrilled to get a bath and to have her scrub his hair. He seemed to really appreciate it. And Chell didn't understand.

As per usual she was out doing her collections. A crash and several following crashes followed suit. Looking over her shoulder she sees him, ambling up to her, holding one foot preciously. He wrung his hands and glanced sideways at her, as if he were there by accident, which she knew better.

His moseying shamble, a collection of weak knees and malnourished muscles, he slides himself up to her. His head is bowed and his hands continue to wring themselves over one another. He opens his mouth to speak but then turns and takes a puzzling step back. His hands separate their mating ritual and move up to his arms where nails bury themselves in flesh.

He turns back to her, raising his head, but his eyes wander to everywhere except to Chell. Quietly he asks his request, for her to clean him again. She stares at him, obviously making him uncomfortable, even though that's really not all that difficult. She asks if he can't clean himself when he takes a long time to answer with an even longer drawn out shake of his head she realizes.

He has never taken care of himself before. Built in aperture he had scientists, the robots, and the facility to take care of him. Once GLaDOS killed the scientists, the robots and the facility took it. And once GLaDOS was offline due to Chell's own devices, the other robots in charge of keeping everything functional, whether worn or not, still did their job to the best of their ability.

He would have never had to do this a day in his life.

Chell scoffed at Wheatley and told him she'd teach him. That he needs to learn to take care of himself. He says he understand the basics, it's the actual application he has trouble with. She scoffs and tells him he's not getting her to give him a bath just so she will touch him. He gets a bath because he needs to learn to take care of himself and perhaps physical social interaction is…beneficial.


	9. Glasses

He didn't need glasses. They were just a wire frame with plastic in between. Chell didn't know this for a long time and thought he actually needed them to see. She wasn't upset as he thought she might have been, but she was confused.

He didn't want to explain how they actually made him feel better about himself, even if it were only a fractional amount. How all the scientists wore glasses, and the scientists were smart.

He actually had perfect vision, if not slightly better than perfect. She only knew he didn't need them because of a time they were laying together and she took them, placing them on her own face. At first she thought something was wrong then he muttered the truth under his breath and stalked off, leaving her there. She gave them back later.

She wasn't angry or upset, just confused as to why he wears them if he doesn't need them. She tries to ask him in several different ways at several different times.

He never answers her, but she figures it out on her own eventually.

She's come to the decision he's not really just stupid, he can be quite clever on occasion. However he is dense, and makes very bad decisions. More like something isn't connected correctly in his head than he's straight missing something. Absent minded and senseless without a good frame of reference for his actions, yes. But him actually being stupid, no.

She tries to show him that this is what she thinks, but he never believes her. He never stops wearing the glasses either.


	10. the best

He's so grateful to hold her close. To feel the warmth of her body, and her shallow breaths as they lie together. The soft firmness of her skin as he brushes a hand against her stomach, a hand against her arms and her legs. He truly is grateful that she would be with him. He is grateful that he would be with her.

He wants nothing more than to make her happy, but he can't all the time and he knows this. He knows he cannot give her everything she wants. She wants the other humans back, the warmth of her childhood in a bustling city, not the cold lifeless world they exist in.

He has never seen such a world, created from an old body with an artificial intelligence put in. he was born in the facility and everything he knew came from there. He heard stories about the outside, the people and the world. He'd heard about cities and towns, agriculture and factories. There was a time where he wanted nothing more than to know what these were, to feel the sun on his skin and know the wind. He wanted to see the crowds of people and breathe fresh air.

He never got to know these things. She did, and she wanted nothing more than to know them again. The air now was thick and murky from years of war and pollution. The crowds and people long since dead. The factories had set fire and the farms were the forests. There were no humans beside those long dead in the belly of the beast miles below.

Neither would ever go back.

Never the less he tries his best to make her happy. He brings her gifts, things he thinks he would have wanted. She's never really impressed but she knows he's trying. She knows he wants only the best for her, and that he feels bad he can't give her the best.

She doesn't want that though, she wants him to be happy, and to be happy herself. She knows that everything won't be like it was once before. She can make the best of dark times, the best of dark situations.


	11. motel

She had a bad habit of climbing things. It's bad because while she's very excellent at getting up, she's not so good at getting down. Her long fall boots had been given to Wheatley as he tended to fall off of more things than she did. He had rather small dainty feet; they made her chuckle to think about.

Nevertheless here she was on top of their living space, the motel, without a good way to get down. She got up by climbing on top of a dumpster then scrambling up a gutter pipe to a second-story window where she vaulted up the wall. Looking over the edge of two stories wouldn't have been a problem if she had her boots, but rather she had his work boots. They were rather nice actually, all leather and as far as she could tell custom tailored. However this situation was not the time for admiring Aperture's oddly nice choice of footwear.

She could see more of the desolated city from up there; see more of the ruined skyscrapers and the beat up old shops. Somehow the air seemed fresher. The sky seemed bluer.

She looked at the roof itself, there were old newspapers decomposed into mush and sun-bleached cigarette butts littering the ground. People had been here at one point. Maybe it was the owner of the motel. Maybe it was some teenagers smoking after school.

Either way, she felt an odd sadness creep up on her.

She looked around the edge for a fire escape or something equally as useful. She found nothing.

She sat on the edge of the building as there was nothing else to do. Looking out at the city again she spotted him. He didn't appear to be doing anything more than rummaging through some bag he'd found. He was so far away it was almost hard to tell exactly.

She called out to him and he obviously didn't hear her, still looking at the bag. She squinted her eyes and realized he was talking to it, or chewing something, she wasn't quite sure. It was more likely he was talking to the bag though. She got sort of sad again, he was lonely enough to resort to talking to bags.

She knew he had some issues. He'd been alone in the facility for a long time. She wished she could do more to help him, but most of the time whenever she brought it up he would storm out in a huff, only to return about an hour later and apologize profusely.

She shook her head and her thoughts away, returning again to getting off of the building. He appeared to be walking back to the hotel, placing the bag on the ground gingerly. She called out to him again and this time it seemed like he heard her.

He walked back to the hotel, yelling at her how she got up there. She didn't answer his question and yelled at him to throw the boots up to her.

Wheatley sighed and did as he was told. The first boot took some time to toss, getting caught in things and not being thrown high enough. The second made it without so many troubles, only missing twice. She quickly exchanged them for the footwear she was currently wearing and jumped down off the building.

He asked her how long she was up there, and told her she should stop climbing things she couldn't get down from. She shrugged and took his hand, leading them inside.


	12. read

His reading was a strange thing. He could recognize letters and patterns in words, but he couldn't place them together. He would get upset if she tried to teach him too long and yell at her, blaming her for making him look dumb. It wasn't her fault, if anything it was his for not wanting to learn. He was upset and bitter about his inability to read and thus would take his anger out on her when she would try to teach him.

She knew he wanted to read, but he didn't want to _learn_ to read. He didn't want to do one of the things he was designed not to do, learn. It was hard and painful and he reasonably did not like it.

She started with small things, and that seemed to work better, he could read Dr. Seuss easily enough, needing help when he got to some of the nonsense words. He couldn't really read harder books, simply giving up and not even starting if it was more than 20 pages long. So she kept him on children's books, letting him learn words slowly at his own comfortable pace.

She figured if it took children years to learn to read, it would probably take him just as long, so long as she kept him reading, not allowing him to stop.

He found it difficult; the words swam around the page and never quite manifested themselves the correct way so he could concentrate on them. He tried, but even after a little while of reading he had lost all his want to do so. He just wanted to read, not learn to read or deal with the issues placed in him to prevent his ability to read.

He felt like he knew how to read at some point. They were almost a memory, something just on the edges of his mind that he couldn't quite grasp or understand. He remembered a room, and he remembered a book, electricity? Perhaps a fire? He wasn't sure, but reading and the act of learning brought along other memories that he thought he had forgotten, memories that may have been before aperture, that the scientists had tried to erase.

They didn't even really seem his. He couldn't focus on them, they would dart around, shifting and changing just as he thought he had something perhaps slightly tangible. So he quit trying. He couldn't succeed, so why should he try. He let Chell get him easy books, and he let her think he was improving.

He didn't want this. He almost didn't want to remember. He didn't want to read and he didn't want to be reminded of his shortcomings. He didn't want to think of aperture and of GLaDOS. He didn't want to think of tests and he didn't want to think of facilities. He didn't want any of it and yet, by making him read and making him face the past and the future at once she was making him face all these things with what they've done to him.

He gets mad, he throws fits. He tells her he doesn't want to do this, he does not want this.

She sits him down.

She takes his hands.

She tells him that this would be a way to overcome his difficulties; to defeat aperture and their programs. It's not another way for aperture to defeat him.

He takes back the book and tries to read it again.

It takes him a long time, and he still had several issues, but eventually he got it. He was proud of himself just as she was proud of him. He never got beyond what some would consider "light reading" but it was still more than he ever thought he would achieve.


	13. owl

Wheatley spent most of his days rummaging through the buildings around the motel, much as Chell did. However, while she was looking for food and supplies, he was looking for things to entertain himself. He bored easily and didn't like to stay in one place very long.

There were several places nearby, all desolate and previously ransacked, but he still found ways to entertain himself. There was the salon Chell had given him a rather forceful haircut in, and the old pool that rainwater collected that they used to bathe. There were a row of little ships that had contained food and clothes at some point, he liked to go into the clothing shops in winter and sleep in a mass of cloth.

But what caught his attention today was what appeared to be a children's educational store. He punched one of the windows and climbed in, stepping over a dresser and knocking things off. The store on the whole seemed to be preserved pretty well in comparison to other shops. He figured that it was because there's nothing actually valuable in here.

Everything was brightly colored at one point, faded by the sun into light orangey pastels near the windows, and covered in a grey dust tint away from them. There were book cases meant for teaching children to read, numbers, letters, teaching aids. There were educational science toys, vinegar and baking soda volcanos, potato battery kits, model airplanes. Little gizmos and gadgets that no longer worked lined the shelves and adorning the walls.

It was sort of underwhelming to be honest.

Everything here he could have gotten back at aperture, if not in a more monotone color scheme. It prompted something sort of sad in him. He never would miss aperture in his life, but it was a sort of homesickness. A soft remembrance for the place he was created and raised in. not all of his memories were bad, in fact most of the bad memories only came after She killed everyone.

He shook his head and moved further into the store, and that's where he saw them. They were a rack of soft plush things. A few of them had big ears and plastic beaks. He wasn't quite sure what to make of them so he set them aside. They rest however were quite entertaining. They were soft fake animals made out of fuzzy cloth. He though it was tremendous.

He only knew the names to a few of them, horse, bear, dog, cat, bird so on and so forth. He didn't know any of the rest, but he didn't really think he needed to either.

One of the birds caught his attention. It was small and white, dotted with grey and black with bright blue eyes. The tag said "snowy owl". He didn't quite know much what that meant, but he couldn't quite put it down either. It was a perfect sort of size to stick in his hood and just let it sit there.

He knew Chell didn't like him to bring home stuff; he was a bit of a hoarder because he wasn't allowed to own things when he was in aperture, and he tended to want possessions of his own. However that meant lots and lots of shiny trinkets and other objects he fancied.

He hadn't brought anything home in a while though, and he thought he was doing ok on his chores and duties, so maybe Chell would let him keep this one?

He placed the owl in his hood and went back out the window, heading for the motel.


	14. run

One thing he didn't think he would like but rather enjoyed was running. It was hard at first and made him feel terrible. Once he got his body to move and work correctly, the ability to run from one area to another and to move on his own to manipulate his surroundings to his will was a fabulous feeling.

He would run everywhere he could, just for the sake of running. Careen down the streets and shout at the top of his lungs. The only person who would tell him no usually didn't so he was at his own to delight in this. He would climb, jump, sprint, just move as fast as he could simply because he could. He wanted the wind blowing against him and the ground beating beneath his feet.

He felt sort of sad that he had gone his entire life without knowing what this felt like. However he felt so ecstatic that he was finally able to do all the things he saw the scientists and other humans doing that he couldn't bring himself to stay upset for too long.

For this same reason he liked to pick things up and hold them; to feel the texture and the consistency of different items. He liked to pick up heavy things for some reason. Especially in front of Chell. He didn't really know why he liked to do this, but if she acknowledged him he felt fantastic.

He liked to run with her, to climb with her, he wasn't really fond of swimming with her but he did it anyway. By the end of everything he guessed it made him feel good. Made him feel better about himself and about his surrounding, knowing he was able to shit and manipulate them like he couldn't before.

Chell thought Wheatley simply had a lot of energy. The first few days when he could barely walk seemed like a chore, but once he realized that walking was fabulous and running was perhaps even better she could barely keep him on one place. He just seemed to have so much energy for a body that had been in cryosleep for who knows how long.

After a few months of this he was getting in shape, as was she. It wasn't that he was out of shape before, but a certain amount of tone was added to his body, much to Chell's amusement. She felt bad for saying she liked better when he was fit, but it was true to an extent. He was easier to take care of and was more willing to do things for himself. Plus she was certainly willing to admit he looked better.

His expendable energy made him more ready to entertain himself, giving him more to do on the days where she would let him go outside. All in all he thought everything was great and good, lots of nice things to see and do and the more he tried the easier it became. It was never like that in aperture, if you couldn't do it the first time, you couldn't do it.


	15. green

The walls of the motel were this sickly sort of green. Perhaps they had been a deep green at one point, but years of sun bleaching and exposure left them a light sickly almost yellow.

Wheatley hated them.

The color reminded him of something he couldn't quite place, a deep memory repressed by science that he terrified him. On rainy days he would end up staring at them, nothing else to do. His eyes would follow the curves of the splotchy color, how it was one hue then the next but all the same sort of uncomfortable unpleasantness. Water stains added browns and near the windows they became near white and peeled like foul flesh.

He supposed they had a pattern once, a floral design that may have been attractive though he doubted it. It swam in the green, getting lost in the pale emerald walls and vanished only to reappear as a face when lightening crashed and light the place in its fury.

She didn't seem to mind or even notice the wallpaper, saying it was better than the other rooms when he told her he didn't like it. For the most part he didn't have to spend any more time save for sleeping in the motel, but the rain and his more pressing fear of water drove him indoors to her.

As long as she was there the wallpaper didn't bother him as much. It was the first time they lay together, the storm pressing itself against the outside and he, terrified and uncomfortable, sought her for relief. The sickening green surrounded as they touched, forgotten in their warmth and closeness together.

At the end she brought him close, pressing him to herself and telling him not to be afraid. Small whispers of comfort to ward him against all the fears and doubts he harbored. She was his contrast to the awful edging the outside produced.

Nestled into her, warm and happy inside the faded green room together, the storm outside throwing it's fury at the earth below it.

He was happy.


	16. dream

He woke with a start, as he did most nights. He never used to have nightmares in aperture, his sleep was just nothing. Once on the surface however, he began to be plagued by awful horrors at night.

He would dream about being caught in Her grip again, or that Chell hadn't forgiven him. But most often was that he was back in the facility, simply by himself. He hadn't realized while it was happening, but the sheer loneliness he had while being in the facility was terrible.

It would creep on him slowly; sometimes he would wander the halls talking to himself. Other times he would sit in silence in a corner, expecting them to come back from some awful prank and yell at him again.

He had done his job to the best of his ability, meaning he did what they had taught him to do. He was so proud to be doing this, whatever it was they needed doing. So long as he didn't have to go back to the research wing, or when they maybe even told him "job well done" and gave him a pat on the back. They never gave him those very often, and it was just a single scruffy scientist that did, but he loved it so much it made it worth all the insults.

But one day they were gone.

At first he thought they had a holiday and didn't tell him. It would be just like them to do so. He could keep things in order for when they got back. He could do such a nice job and they'd never even think they were gone. They'd appreciate him then. Surely they'd have to.

But they didn't come back. It was a while after this that he stopped cleaning and making fresh coffee for whenever they did come back, he still had slight hope though, and always turned the lights off and checked on the humans whenever they made little beeps.

He wasn't actually supposed to touch the humans in cryosleep, he was supposed to help the scientists that watched them instead. But he wanted to do his best, and show the scientists how good he was and that he could do a job just fine when they got back, whenever that was. He knew enough about the systems from watching them work that if one light was on to push one button, and if another was on to push another.

He was so proud of himself.

But it got taxing.

More systems made more beeps. More jobs needed doing. More time passed without help and one day he decided he didn't want to. The scientists got breaks when they felt they needed so why shouldn't he? What was so different about him?

So he did. His first real break sense he had been turned on. There wasn't much to do and he sat in a corner most of the time, doing what he did normally. Yet The ability to acknowledge a system error on the life-sign charts of the humans in cryosleep and ignore it felt so good and daring, he didn't care enough to change.

He knew he had to go back to work though, and he did shortly after. He did this for a long time, taking quick breaks and working as hard as he could the rest of the time.

However, he was lonely. He hadn't realized it, along with so many other thing she hadn't realized. The scientists never talked to him, and often told him to shut up; But the capacity to still have someone to talk to though was so much greater a thing than he could have hoped for, and he missed it. He didn't care that they never talked back to him, or that they never listened. He just wanted someone there.

There was no one there for him though. So he began to talk to himself. He would sit in his corner on his break and talk to himself about what had happened at work today. The life signs on cryo patient number 274 were off today, sort of like it was yesterday. You know that reminds me of another cryo patient that did the same thing. Oh really? I think I remember that. They got sick didn't they? Yes, it was a fever, I'm afraid they didn't make it.

He never talked on the job. When he worked that was time for work and nothing more. They had yelled at him when he tried to talk near the sleeping people, they had yelled at him a lot as he recalled. He had only done his best but they were never happy with his best. But he didn't talk on the job.

One day he did. He just needed to hear something. Something besides the endless screams of rooms needing fixing and lifesigns in danger of going critical.

"it'll be ok"

And he felt better. So he said it again "it'll all be ok. You've got this." He knew something was wrong before it really even started. But he finished for the day and went to his corner, where he took his breaks.

The power went out that night and over half the sleeping people died.

He woke the next morning in the usual way. Pulled his clothes on, and went about his chores. He didn't know what to do about the dead people so he did nothing. Something told him it wasn't right though. He has to get out of there. But what about when the scientists come back? They wont come back, you never meant anything to them. They're dead. They're dead? Of course they're dead you've been here for years.

So he did what he was told never to do or else he'd die, he woke a person up. They didn't last long, and neither did any of the others, till he found her. she did everything she could to help him, and he appreciated it so much. He wished she'd talk though.

It was later, sitting in an old motel, breathing in the scent of musty air from an old decayed outside world, did he realize how horrible it was.


	17. position

She slept in weird positions. He did as well but she most certainly was the worst. They both tossed in bed and flailed around each other in their sleep only to wake up in the morning in really strange positions.

More often than not he wound up in a corner of the bed hugging himself while she was sprawled out into the whole thing. She also tended to kick him in the night, sometimes he woke up and sometimes he didn't. when he would wake up he would act as though he had been shot and scrabble off the bed in a mad dash of limbs and shrieks.

While she felt bad she did it, she thought it was the funniest thing and never really meant the apologies for it. When he didn't wake up from the kicking sometimes he'd end up kicking her back, which had much worse effects. He didn't normally kick chell in his sleep, but when he did she rained hellfire upon him in an instant and made him sleep in the rag pile where he slept before.

She usually forgave him after 5 minutes and let him back in bed after her heart stopped thumping so loudly.

But most of the time he was in his corner of the bed, and she was in the rest of it. He usually woke up first and literally rolled out of the bed, sometimes catching himself on the floor sometimes hitting it dead on. His rag pile was directly below so it never really hurt, but it was awkward none-the-less when Chell would murmur "what was that?" in response to the thud and he'd have to reply he'd fallen out of bed again.

She'd get up soon after because of all of his noise. She thought it was amazing how he could make so much noise doing nothing. He'd get ready for her to make breakfast, setting the table and washing the dishes from the night before. Depending on the previous night's activities sometimes he did this with very little clothing and she had to scold him.

She'd make breakfast, usually a bread product and a meat if they had any. He was getting sort of good at catching small animals so they weren't as hard off on meat as they had been at one point. The grain was whatever she could find. Sometimes it was oatmeal that just needed water other times plain ancient croutons, whatever she could find usually. She made bread on occasion and Wheatley really liked that, but cooking without electricity in a pot over a fire made bread rather hard to make.

After words they would decide what they were going to do that day. She made him promise every day to be home before sundown, and he usually was. When he wasn't she was pleased to find he usually had good enough excuses that she didn't have to punish him. She'd make a dinner of sorts, using whatever they'd found that day, and they'd eat it.

On occasion it would have been deemed inedible, but without prior knowledge of good food he thought everything she made was fantastic.

So they would eat, discuss how their day was, then possibly go to bed then and there. Sometimes they would stay up and sit by the fire, she in his lap and neither would say much. He would occasionally give her hand a squeeze and rub his cheek on the top of her head. She would reply with soft giggles.

Later in their living together he'd carry her back to the bedroom after she had fallen asleep.

He didn't know how to classify them, they weren't quite "boyfriend girlfriend" as he had heard about, but they weren't really just friends at this point either. He's not sure when the transition came along, but he was happy with it, as was she.

They'd wake up in the mornings, same as the day before, and the cycle would continue.


End file.
